


Win, Place, or Show

by mugi_says_eep



Series: Finding a Balance [2]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: A meditation on shifting priorites, Alternative Family Structures, Equestrian Events, Multi, Same-Sex Marriage, Takes place about 15 months after "An Immodest Proposal", background Baby Tasha, they're all 30-somthing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 19:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14984480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugi_says_eep/pseuds/mugi_says_eep
Summary: It's been 15 months since the slightly boozy but nonetheless memorable night that Baz and Simon got Agatha up the duff. And now they are the proud parents of a beautiful baby girl. . .So really, how could things *not* start to go pear-shaped?





	Win, Place, or Show

**Author's Note:**

> Where being rational and sophisticated goes out the window. . .
> 
> . . . and baser-impulses come into play

******Baz**

When I was younger, the one thing that made equestrian events remotely tolerable was being able to gaze in appreciation at the fit male competitors in their tight white breeches. And now, as I sit here in the viewing stands, I can still say there is a certain aesthetic _appeal_.

But sitting beside Simon, whose arse is divine no matter what he’s wearing -- and also is thrillingly mine -- that appeal is rather diminished. No surprise there.

What does surprise me is the fact that I can’t seem to stop my gaze from focusing on Agatha’s backside as she guides her horse through the jump course.

Agatha is glorious in the saddle and a fierce competitor. As we watch her negotiate each fence flawlessly, I feel a deep sense of appreciation and pride, mixed with a rather heady level of possessiveness.

I must not be very subtle because Simon knocks shoulders with me and murmurs low in my ear, “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Crowley, Simon! I always knew Agatha had a beautiful seat, but did she look this good when you used to go to those blasted horse events with her back at school?”

“Yeah. Pretty much. Absolutely stunning. Why? Like what you see, then?”

“I may be gay, but I’m not blind. I freely admit that Agatha is gorgeous in the saddle. So tell me again, why weren’t you shagging her when you two were dating?”

“I seem to recall it had something to do with being obsessed with my insufferable arch-nemesis roommate. Haven’t we established that by now?” He looks pointedly at the matching wedding bands we both wear.

“And what about now?”

“Are you asking why I’m not shagging Agatha now? Because I’m pretty sure I did. About fifteen months ago. You were there. I’d think you’d remember. It was a rather memorable night. And we even have Tasha as a souvenir to prove it.”

“I meant, do you ever think about shagging her . . . for lack of a better term . . . _recreationally_?” 

Simon shrugs. “I dunno. It hasn’t really come up, has it. What with how busy she’s been with the baby and all . . . Besides, that wasn’t part of our agreement. So there’s really not much point . . .” 

“So you _have_ thought about . . . !”

“Well, not precisely . . . I mean, Agatha and I have never been “swept up in a firestorm of unquenchable passion,” or whatever it is my Gran’s embarrassing _boudoir_ novels call it. I save all that for you. Smug bastard.” He gives me a little grin.

Then he frowns. “Agatha and I’ve always been more, ‘Let’s have a cuddle on the couch while I rub your feet.’ Even when we were kids. Though I suppose if the cuddling ever _had_ turned into something else, I wouldn’t have minded. And I expect Agatha wouldn't have flat out said ‘no’ either.”

Then Simon turns and gives me a speculative look. “But here’s the thing, Baz. Agatha has never turned it on for me the way she does for you.”

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about, Simon?”  

At just that moment, Agatha dismounts, having completed a clean round through the jump course. As she does, she aims a dazzling, triumphant smile in our direction.

As Simon immediately waves and cheers, I watch her face settle into a small, fond smile. But when Simon elbows me in the side and hisses, “Wave, dammit!” and I do, her eyes catch fire and her expression becomes positively incandescent. And even from this distance I can see the faint blush spread across her pale cheeks.

“See what I mean. I’m pretty sure that’s for your benefit, not mine.” Simon smiles benevolently and shrugs. “Agatha may love me, but you’re the one she truly fancies; she always has done and she always will.”

 

**Agatha**

I’m pleased with how Count Orlok and I have done over the course today. This is the first meet we’ve taken part in for ages, and frankly, I was nervous how we would fair. 

I only started competing again a couple of years ago, when I came home to England. And then I had to stop riding all together while I was pregnant with Tasha.

But then, when I was having a hard time shaking off the "baby blues" after Tasha was born, Baz of all people suggested I start riding again. “I don’t want you getting fat, for Crowley’s sake. What would they say at the club? And it might pick you up.” Horrid, really. But he was right. 

I’ve just got Orlok settled in his box stall for the night. It’s been a long day, and we’re a long way from London. We’ll stay the night here and trailer home tomorrow.

I had assumed I was alone in the stalls. But suddenly there’s a solid presence behind me, and a voice booms out, “Agatha, darling. You were brilliant out on the course today.”

Hells spells, it’s Peter. What am I going to do? I have neither the time nor the patience right now for him and his nonsense. 

Peter and I hooked up a few times, right before I got pregnant. And while he’s an excellent horseman and good in the sack, he’s also an utter bore. And a randy one at that.

I don’t want to get waylaid; Baz and Simon are waiting on me out by the carpark. So I try for disinterested and insincere. “Peter! I didn’t realize you were attending this meet.”

“Come away and have dinner with me. And maybe after . . .”

Make that randy AND straight to the point.

“Oh, is that what you’re after then?” 

“And what if it is? Is that so terrible? You were always up for a bit of a tumble before.”

“Yes, but --”

“Come on, Ags. Just say yes. You know you _want_ to.”

“Really, Peter. I can’t. I already have plans . . .” 

“Agatha, you have been putting me off for weeks and weeks. It’s been -- what? -- six months since the blessed event. Surely you must be gagging for it by now.”

“Not tonight. I’m really not in the mood.”

He grabs my wrist and leers, “You’re such a bloody tease, Agatha. Now come on --” 

Suddenly a figure looms in the doorway and says in a dangerous whisper, “Let her go!”

 

**Simon**

I nearly crash into Baz as he pulls up short in the doorway. I feel him bristle and draw himself up the way he does right before a fight. But surely that’s not right.

I bend slightly to the side and look around him. Then I see it . . .

Agatha is there with a man. He’s reaching his hand out toward her, and I immediately don’t like the way he’s looking at her. 

Agatha is wearing her impassive patrician mask, but I can see distaste in the slight downward turn of her lips. She stiffens and tries to pull back as he grabs her wrist and starts to speak, the fact that he intends to insist becoming suddenly clear. 

And that’s when Baz breathes out “Let her go!” and strides through the door.

The man is startled enough to loosen his grip, and Agatha immediately breaks free and edges over to my side as I charge in behind Baz. I place a hand protectively at the small of her back and feel her slump minutely against me in relief.

“Hey, now. The lady and I were just having a pleasant chat. Why don’t you mind your own business --”

“The lady wants nothing to do with you. Leave. Now.”

The man bristles, clearly both angry and unsettled. “And just who in the bloody hell do you think you are?”

There is a pause as Baz considers this. What can he say that will get this creep to back off with the least amount of fuss? Agatha tenses beside me, and I find myself holding my breath.

“Her husband. Now get out.”

 

**Agatha**

I don’t know if it’s a vampire thing. Or just the result of generations of aristocratic breeding.

But faced with the intensity of Baz's thunderous gaze and the implied threat of his words, Peter disappears. And I . . . _climax_. With the most embarrassing little hiccup-y moan.

(And, dammit all to hell, if Simon’s goggle-eyed expression is anything to go by, he's heard me.)

And that’s the moment I know. I want him. I want Basil. I’ve never stopped wanting him.

And what’s worse; Simon knows it, too. 

For fuck's sake! What am I going to do now?

 

 **Baz**  

We’ve talked about this. We have an agreement. Simon and I are together. And Agatha likes Normal men. What's more, she has every right to associate with whomever she likes.

But when that slimy bastard reaches out for her, my vision narrows down to a point, and I’m overwhelmed with the kind of possessive (obsessive?) impulse I’ve only felt for one other person.

And that’s the moment I know. I want her. I want Agatha. She’s mine. She belongs to me. She's the mother of my child. And I can’t stand the idea of anyone else touching her. Maybe not even Simon.

What in Crowley’s name am I going to do now?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hugs and kisses to Peregrine Bones for encouraging me to post more of this series. *waves enthusiastically* Thanks, PB!
> 
> And thanks to everyone else who has stopped by to read and leave kudos and comments. I have a lot of fun writing these silly little stories. And it makes me happy to know people are having fun reading them. 
> 
> Mugi says "eep" and scampers away!


End file.
